


Circles Around the Sun

by SleepingOnVenus



Series: Circles Around the Sun [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon Trans Character, Coming of Age, F/M, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Other, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 01:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13987980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingOnVenus/pseuds/SleepingOnVenus
Summary: Shane Taylor, a 17-year-old transgender student, is introduced to a realm of possibility following the move from his old town to an entirely new city, far away from his old life. He is torn between leaving it all behind him and passing as something he isn't for the sake of social survival, and being honest with who he is at the core.





	Circles Around the Sun

A mass was on the shore. The remnants of a destroyed boat covered up with a number of sheets, and then a piece of tarpaulin. Shane approached it, hoping that something wouldn’t jump out at him. His feet were bare, and he recalled the feeling of a small crab scuttling over his left one. The feeling of the damp sand beneath his feet wasn’t comforting, though familiar.

He made his way closer to the mass before removing the tarp, before he stared down at moth-eaten sheets and an empty shell of a boat, absolutely reeking of mildew.

Why was he here? 

He swore he heard something and went down from his house to investigate. He was wearing sandals but had ditched them after they had gotten stuck in the mud. Now, he was staring down this empty shell. The word vacant came to his mind, but he didn’t quite understand why. A chill came over his arms, and he decided to rub at the goosebumps that formed. Some way of warming himself. The cold wasn’t too bad, but he supposed it was always worse by the water.

Why was he here?

He didn’t know what he was looking for. Only knew that he was searching for something. Whatever sound caused him to walk down from his house was drowned out by the sound of waves, but when he looked, the water was calm. He tried to recount his steps, to figure out the purpose of his presence down here, but suddenly realised that he didn’t remember walking down from his house. He’d just assumed it happened.

A noise rose from the shell. A song, distorted by transmission static, from what little he could hear, it sounded like Midge Williams. If, of course, Midge Williams was stuck in a walkie-talkie and singing for her chance to be _the world’s first **walkie-talkie** songstress._ This was not the song that lured him from his home, of course, but it was still a sound coming from the destroyed boat, and that on its own was interesting.

Even though it was only coming from a busted radio.

The radio was mostly covered in barnacles, but despite this, seemed to be in moderate condition. Shane had picked it up, deciding that he was going to listen to the recording of Midge singing _Where in the World._ He was relieved to know it wasn’t someone fucking with him over a talkie, but it was still strange that the busted radio was able to connect to a channel at all. He attempted to turn it up, but the static only got worse from there, so he turned it back to what he figured was the volume it began at.

It cut off about ninety-seconds in, where the interlude would usually start, and was replaced with someone naming numbers from forty-eight to seventy-two in monotone, though it went by threes. Once the counting had ceased, someone began talking to him.

Actually talking to him.

“You’re vacant. Vacuous. Anything left for you left on vacation. You’re in a void, leaving hundreds of dead in your wake.”

His stomach dropped.

_“Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled and paced upon the mountains overhead, and hid his face amid a crowd of stars.”_

Yeats, he identified, but was it really Yeats talking to him?

Why was he here?

The radio ran out of juice, or maybe the transmission was knocked off the air, and he was devoured by a sudden loneliness. He breathed in slowly, before focusing on the sound of the waves again.

He knew the waters were calm, but the sound protested. Beyond the waves, there was something else. A quaking. A sound. An entire mountain crumbling down. An avalanche. Before him was a behemoth. Washed ashore, a titan. The awful quaking, a beached whale. It was larger than anything he’d ever seen before. He decided, reluctantly, to approach it. An electrical squealing interrupted him, suddenly deafening. Suddenly hurting.

**He awoke.**

The thoughts swam in his head. What they’d said. What was the point again? The dream was bizarre. He was in pain. Now, the dream didn't exist, just remembering the fight that occurred just the night before. First, they were yelling. Something about a warning, something involving never letting that little shit get away with it. They backed off, only to attack when he took the blame. He’d started by dodging, but eventually after fist and fist again, he wasn’t in the mood.

His eye was swollen shut, and his hips hurt. Wasn’t the first time it happened over a misunderstanding, but he was always uneasy when he fought. He knew how, but he was unmotivated.

He wouldn’t defend himself. He guessed that was his worst flaw.

“Yo, Sunshine. You awake yet?”

He rolled to his side to face the direction of the voice. “Yeah. Don’t call the morgue.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to be awake. He was surprised he didn’t get any teeth knocked loose, but then again he didn’t get injuries to the mouth that wasn’t so bad. A split lip, but it’d heal.

He heard his friend tsk lightly and prepared to be chastised for his behaviour. He didn’t even do anything bad. He just took the blame.

Then, it got violent. He told Carver to run.

“You shoulda’ run too, y'know.”  
_“I know.”_  
“Why didn’t you?”

He had to think about it. _Because they would have run after you,_ he thought, **Because I care about you.** He decided to talk, gritting his teeth to deal with the lecture. _“… I guess I’m not that smart, now am I?”_ was his answer, he tried to smile but it came out as a wince with the bruises on his cheek and jaw. “If I was, I probably wouldn’t have even talked to him, right? Carv, y'know why I didn’t run. Don’t pretend.”

He could only remember the pity the other man had for him, even as he socked him in the face. Even as he kicked him in the ribs. Pity. Pity. Pity. Shame. It made his stomach twist into knots, and he wanted so badly to be angry at the man, but he couldn’t help it.

Carver thought the beach house was abandoned, and that’s why he brought the party there. He got drunk. They were rowdy.

The only thing that bothered Shane was that Carver invited Lana along. He wasn’t invited, but he knew Lana was trouble.

That’s when the owner showed up. Or at least the owner’s son.

“By letting him beat the piss out of you?”  
“Well, not literally, but yeah. By lettin’ him beat the piss outta me.”

He didn’t even know the guy who beat him up but he assumed Carver did. That’s why I told you to run. A scraped up hand went through tangled tawny hair, smoothing out what mess he could. It wasn’t like he was sitting up in a hospital bed. He was in his own bed, in his own house.

“Think he woulda’ hit so hard if he knew you were–”  
_“Shut the fuck up, Carver.”_  
”Well, I wanna **talk** about it!”  
”I don’t.”

He was angry now, he turned on his side to face the wall instead of Carver. He didn’t want to think about it. His head was aching. He wondered if he should have just gone home instead.

If he should have just let Carver get the shit beat out of him. But he supposed, even for all his faults, Carver was still a good kid. Four months younger than him, but still good. Too ready to tell the world of Shane's condition, but he supposed that he had good intentions.

"Look, man. I'm sorry. All I've done is be an ungrateful bastard. I meant to say thank you, but it came out as why the hell you let them hit you so much." The petty part of Shane's mind was wondering if that was just a justification, but he forced a smile on his face. This one, again, much more a wince. "It's fine," though a thought came that made him wonder if that sounded passive-aggressive. "I mean, I shouldn't have gone in and played some hero." He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful that it was one of the few parts of him that didn't hurt in some way. "'Cause now I feel like I got sat on by a truck, and you owe me breakfast."

Carver laughed at that statement, and just that sound made relief was over him.

"Seriously, man. Make me some fuckin' pancakes or somethin', **shit.** " He exclaimed, a grin approaching. He was trying to sit up now. 

"Bananas or blueberries?" Carter decided to indulge him, even if it was just some lame attempt at humour. He did feel bad about it, he just had a poor way of showing it. Or perhaps too honest of a way of showing it. As much as his temper annoyed him sometimes, Shane was grateful he had him. A nervous flutter began in his stomach, suddenly realising he failed to inform Carver of the fact that he might not physically be in his life after this month. 

He brushed it off. There was still social media, wasn't there? Even so, they had eachothers' numbers still. Carver was still waiting for an answer, pensively beginning to fumble with his pockets as Shane realised he really was going to make him some breakfast.

"Blueberries. What kinda question is that? I thought you knew me." He teased.

"Just checkin', Sunshine."

He'd begun to leave before he halted. "You got blueberries, right?" Shane nodded, and Carver finally walked off to the kitchen. In his absence, Shane got up and went through his clothes, deciding on what to wear before he went to take a shower while his friend prepped them some breakfast. 

It was Friday when everything happened, he recalled. Carver called his friends to make their way by nine. The fight happened around the time everyone was going home, in various states of inebriation. Ultimately, they all chipped in for two cabs. It would be a bad idea to pass out at the beach house. Shane only showed up because Carver rung his mobile, telling him to show up, telling him it was important. Shane was ready to drive his friend home, before the fight actually happened.

He still managed to get Carver home, before he drove back to his own house.

Running his hands through his hair, he figured the whole situation was fucking stupid, now that it was Saturday morning. Once he was finished cleaning himself, he dressed and made his way to the kitchen, smelling like peach shampoo. Despite his own fragrance, it paled in comparison to the smell of pancakes, topped with blueberries, but otherwise plain to leave room for choice. Another smile came to his face, hurting just like the first.

"Y'know, I dreamt that Hannah Tristaine ate a banana split off my stomach." He exclaimed, grinning despite his bruises. It wasn't the truth, but he figured his joke about his last girlfriend would break the ice after they finished. "I had a cherry in my belly button. Sorta like a body shot, but with chocolate sauce and a cherry." He ran with it. Carver's reaction was laughter like he hoped it would be.


End file.
